How To Save A Life
by ShamelessSpocker
Summary: Jim and Spock could face anything.  But when something threatens to tear them apart, how will they fight back?  Re-posted.
1. Part One

As much as it pains me, I don't own Star Trek or its beautiful characters. That would be someone else's joy. Sorry this disclaimer is up so late. Please don't sue me.

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><p>I watch him from the corner of my eye. He doesn't know I do this, because I shield it through the mental bond we have created. To most it would seem like typical shore leave. But to me-it's torture.<p>

My beloved is drunk again. There is nothing new about this. I once asked him why he does it, and his answer was some off-hand comment about how he is young; just 'blowing off steam.' I understand he must be under a great deal of pressure being the youngest captain in the Fleet, but it does not call for this type of reaction. Equally, his behavior should not call for this kind of reaction in me. But it does.

After he swallows one more shot, I risk a brief touch on his arm, coupled with an appeal through the bond. _May we leave now?_ He grins at me and nods his head to the bartender, who refills the glass. I close my eyes briefly, and walk outside. I need to gather my wits and be alone, where my emotional reactions will not be seen by others.

It is night on Earth. After being on several diplomatic errands, the _Enterprise_ had returned home, and Jim and I beamed down to San Francisco. We finished our paperwork and debriefings, and after changing into civilian clothes, we headed out for a night on the town. I don't know why I expected anything other than his typical behavior, but still I held the illogical hope he wouldn't end up in a bar tonight. Not again.

I have not told Jim how much his drinking bothers me. He has changed enough as it is to be with me. I feel guilty asking for more. But this is something I cannot ignore. It hurts too much. I cannot even speak of this to anyone; I am not just his bond-mate, I am his First Officer. To express concern about such behavior would bring his command into question, and I would rather suffer in silence than be the reason he loses his position. He has been through so much; he has proven himself time and time again. He deserves better than this.

I look up at the stars, and for a brief moment allow my gaze to turn towards 40 Eridani. After all this time, one would imagine I would stop looking for Vulcan. It is gone; _kaiidth_. However, every surviving Vulcan will forever look to the stars for home. It is part of who we are. Perhaps that is why my mind turns there now.

There _is_ one person I could contact, but I am hesitant. Humans often make jokes about talking to themselves. I may be the only being that can actually do this. Ambassador Selek would not mind me contacting him. He would share my concern. And perhaps, he has been through this himself. Without another option, I open my communicator and request beam-up.

He watches me across the grainy connection. He is patient; so logical and yet so emotional. He has never stood in judgment of me, and even now he waits until I voice why I have contacted him.

"Ambassador," I begin, bowing my head in respect.

When I look up at him again, there is a distinct twinkle in his eyes. I now see what Jim is talking about when he mentions that I have this characteristic. He nods his head in return, and a small smile appears. We do not mention our relationship to others. It is confusing enough for me; I could not imagine explaining to another being that I have an alternate-albeit older-me out there.

"I have become… concerned… about my bond-mate." I waste no time with pleasantries. My heart lurches in my side and I pray Jim will understand why I am doing this. Selek's brow furrows and his eyes narrow.

"_What causes this concern?_" he responds.

What, indeed? How do I express this distaste?

I realize I am doing the Vulcan equivalent of pacing, and force my hands to stop moving. Thankfully they cannot be seen, but still it is shameful. Even now I cannot bring myself to speak the words, so I force them out before I can stop myself again.

"It is his drinking." There. I have said it. My heartbeat seems so fast, and yet I feel each distinct beat echo inside me. I am so distracted I almost miss the ambassador's response.

"_The events he has been through have placed him in a much darker place than where my bond-mate was at his age_." He pauses, and I know he is remembering his youth. "_Many humans respond with this action as a method of coping. However, I understand how it can make you uncomfortable_."

I shake my head. "I do not know why he must cope with problems in this manner when he could simply come and talk to me." I refuse to acknowledge the bitterness in my voice.

Selek tilts his head slightly, and releases a small sigh. "_If it is happening more than you would like, and if it is bothering you this greatly, then I am not the one you need to be speaking with, _tomasu." I want to protest, but he raises his hand. "_Nor is it my place to become involved. This is a private issue, one that should be handled within the _tel_._"

I swallow, and refuse to let the pain show on my face. He is telling me I have to face this alone, and in his answer I suspect he did not face this same problem. If I were human, I would say my hopes have been dashed.

"Thank you, _tomasu-os_. I will take my leave now," I reply and bow formally.

I wait for his usual chuckle he gives when I refer to him as 'old,' and when it does not come I look back up. His eyes seem sad. I see him swallow and look down, and I recognize the pain of memory. When he replies I know I was wrong before.

"_It will not be easy. But it will be worth it_." With those final words, he ends the transmission.

It is just before 0200, and the bars should be closing soon. I turn to head for the transporter room. If patterns hold true, Jim will not be able to make it back home without help. That help usually comes from me. If only I could help him in another way, without him resorting to ingesting massive amounts of toxins. We are still off-duty for the rest of today. Today, I tell myself. I will talk to him today. I let the transporter beam take hold of me and return me to Earth.

As I expected, the bars are closing and the patrons are exiting. They are all in various stages of intoxication, ranging from overly friendly to unable to form coherent sentences. I scan the crowd nervously, seeking out my other half. Then I see him. He has his arm around a petite woman, and he has his famous Kirk smile blazing at 1,000 watts. I refuse to accept how much it hurts to see him look at anyone but me in that way. I steady myself and weave into the rush of people.

"James." There is no love in my voice; it is flat and precise. His head swings in my direction and for a moment the smile I thought could get no brighter grows even more intense.

"Hey, Spock," he slurs. It is taking everything I have not to reach out and incapacitate him, for the sole purpose of venting my frustration. I shoot a glance between the woman and him, and choose the best words to get us out of this situation without embarrassing him.

"I would like to have a word with you, in private preferably."

The young woman reads my tone perfectly and extracts herself with a convenient excuse of finding her friends. Jim looks after her with an almost wolfish leer, then turns back to me and slaps me on the back. He knows that has always annoyed me, but I will let it pass given his current condition. We walk down the street to a more secluded area, and when he finally pauses I give him no time to talk. I pull out my communicator and ask for beam-up of myself and the captain. True to his nature, Mr. Scott does not ask questions. It is fortuitous that he is manning the transporter this shift.

As soon as we have rematerialized, Jim turns to me with a question on his lips, but again I give him no leeway. I walk briskly out of the room, giving him the option to follow or remain. I hear his unsteady gait behind me but I refuse to slow. On the lift, down the hall, to the door of my quarters I so rarely use anymore, I do not speak. When I enter my code and walk in, activating the lights for the first time in months, he stands in the hall. He is obviously still confused as to why I am in this room and not the one we have shared since our bonding a year ago.

I reach under the bunk for my spare meditation mat and unfold it. I light some leftover incense and settle myself on the floor. Taking several deep breaths, I consider what to do now. Do I just blurt out everything—all the pain and misery I have felt watching him try to destroy himself for the past three years? Or do I tap-dance around the issue until he picks up on the subject? I am granted a pardon from my ordeal, when he begins the discussion himself.

"I've pissed you off, I'm pretty sure. Whad d'I do this time?" He throws himself into the desk chair, swinging it back and forth in his typical manner. He studies me from beneath thick lashes and through bloodshot eyes. I believe he is not taking this situation seriously. I withhold my answer for the moment, choosing instead to continue focusing on my breathing. He grows curious and gives me a subtle mental poke through the bond.

_What?_

I choose to ignore that, as well. I will consider other factors right now, such as noticing the temperature in here is slightly below ship's normal, and entirely too cold for me. The lights are at 100%, in Terran normal spectrum, and it hurts my eyes, but that is acceptable. I am suffering mentally and now physically, and for reasons I dare not fathom I want my careless lover to suffer as well. After an amazingly long silence, I rise from my position on the floor and extinguish the incense. Without speaking a single word to him yet, I order the lights off and leave the room. I am heading towards our shared quarters now. I hear him trailing behind me and the cockiness has been replaced by confusion and some subtle hurt, and I have to block off my feelings of wholly inappropriate victory before he senses them.

Entering the new room, I order the lights to 50%. The combination of Terran and Vulcan hues is more pleasing, but I still wish to feel pain. I have never considered myself a masochist until now. The room temperature is comfortable for both of us, and I find myself irritated by this fact. The living area is decorated with personal effects of both of ours. His beautiful antique book collection. My father's _ahn-woon_ and _lirpa_. Holos of our families intermixed on shelves as though to encourage them to mingle in real life.

He is standing in the door, leaning on the edge and staring at me in complete confusion now. Coming unhinged, I grab the closest holo and throw it at him with all my strength. It shatters against the wall by his head, but does not give me the reaction I desire.

He simply blinks at me and utters a "Huh?"

I have to make him see; I have to make him understand that I hurt. My eyes search the room, and return to the books. That should work. Next to fly towards him is the copy of _Treasure Island_ he has been reading. It tumbles through the air, pages fluttering, and strikes him on the shoulder. I expect he will be angry about the mistreatment of such a precious antique. His face is a darker shade of red now, and it has nothing to do with the amount of alcohol he has imbibed.

"Jesus _fucking_ Christ, what is with you?" he finally demands thickly, and takes a deep breath before calling out a code I never expected to hear. Code Gold: _Captain in distress. _Security will be here soon. I am no longer an angry Vulcan facing his wayward lover; I am Commander Spock, First Officer, who has assaulted Captain James T. Kirk of the _USS Enterprise_. The shame overrides my previous anger, and I become very still. I will accept my punishment—both professional and personal.

As security floods the hall, I manage to send one last emotion through the bond—_sorrow_—before turning myself over to the guards. I explain as patiently as possible that I have assaulted the Captain and must be placed in the brig. Were it any other situation, the looks of disbelief on their faces would have amused me. I gather what is left of my dignity and walk calmly ahead. They fall in behind me. It crosses my mind to reprimand them for not keeping dominion over their prisoner, but that falls outside of my jurisdiction now. I have managed to end my career in Starfleet and my marriage in one fatal move.

Mr. Scott comes barreling out of the turbo lift, followed closely by Dr. McCoy. The shock and worry is all too obvious.

"Wha' happened, Mr. Spock? We heard the code-"

Doctor McCoy adds to Mr. Scott's statement; as he usually adds to everything, "-dammit, man, what the hell is going on-"

I permit myself a small shake of the head and enter the waiting lift. Security can answer those questions. A curious quiet is settling in my being; dullness is coating my senses. In the edge of my memories, I know Dr. McCoy would diagnose this as shock. It does not matter anymore. In fact, I cannot think of a single thing that matters. I am empty, and nothing will ever touch me again.

The voices reach me from a dark tunnel, and I am beyond caring. My eyes are closed, and I am trying to make myself as comfortable as possible on the bench in the brig. The soft hum of the force field, outside human hearing range, fades. Someone has entered my cell. I do not bother looking. If Jim is following Starfleet regulations, it will be Dr. McCoy.

For once, he does not banter with me. He passes his scanner over my body, professional in every aspect. I wonder if he hates me as much as Jim does now. Finally, he puts his tools away and kneels beside me.

"Spock…." He seems at a loss for words.

As there was no question, I give no response. I feel his cool, talented hand close on mine, and his emotions enter me. He is not angry; at least, not at me. There is concern, compassion, and not a small amount of surprise. _Thought things were going better for you two. _He wants a reason, an explanation for my behavior. He may be the last person I can talk to before the trial, and even though our conversation may be recorded, I trust him to not reveal what I am about to tell him.

Opening my eyes, I turn my head towards him. His smooth hazel eyes seem remote.

"Doctor."

He nods, silently asking me to let go.

"I could not handle it anymore," I whisper. "For all the pain and uncertainty I expected with being bonded to a human, I was unprepared to stand beside him as he constantly harms himself in a childish attempt to run away from responsibility." I lower my gaze to my hands. "I was scared," I admit.

"What happened down there?" he whispers back, even though we both know the outline.

He was the one responsible for making sure Jim survived the Academy; if it weren't for his intervention Jim might not have ended up on the _Enterprise,_ and the Federation would have suffered more than just the destruction of Vulcan.

A bitter chuckle rumbles in my throat. "Nothing we are not used to, Leonard."

The use of his first name has always been a signal between us. It means I am talking to him as my husband's best friend, not as a fellow officer. He shifts his legs to fold beneath him, and with a curt jerk of his head he orders the security ensigns to leave. Although it is against regulations, this whole morning has been an ordeal for everyone. They nod gratefully and walk away.

"You mean he got trashed and made a move on someone, and you just stood there and took it?" he asks when we are alone.

I cannot speak for fear of hearing the pain in my voice, so I simply nod. He shakes his head and mutters several curses. He closes his eyes and rubs them violently. It occurs to me he is still in his pajamas and robe; he did not have time to dress when the Code Gold came across, and probably has not left Jim's side in the aftermath.

"You are tired. This can wait for another time," I offer. His eyes snap open and now they burn with fury. I have seen him look like this before, as he goes face to face with Death in the age-old struggle to save a patient. It means he is on a mission, and will not be deterred at any cost.

"Listen, Spock," he growls. "If Jimmy-boy thinks I'm gonna let you roll over and take this, he's sadly mistaken. Hell, you didn't do nothin' that hasn't crossed my mind more than once the past five years." He scoots closer, and for a moment I feel like a young child conspiring with a friend. "Look, I know it's not the most desirable method, but I can make this drop off the record. All I have to say is that you were-"

"—emotionally compromised," I finish for him. At his astonishment, I raise an eyebrow. "I _have_ had some time to think, Leonard."

I had considered this possibility, but I threw it out when I realized they would want to know what had emotionally compromised me, and I would be forced to answer honestly, under oath. My opinion that the Captain of the flagship of the Federation is a drunken playboy would be used against him to strip him of his ship. And although he has told me he would more than willingly sacrifice his ship for me, I will not put him in that situation if I can help it.

"Then what do you want to do, Spock? Lord, just tell me and I'll do whatever I can. I'll pull every fuckin' string in Starfleet if I have to. Just-" He breaks off and I see the tell-tale signs of glistening eyes and pursed lips that mean he is getting overly emotional. I reach out and he clasps my hand hard. "Tell me what you need," he finishes.

I answer in a steady voice, even though it tears me apart speak of this.

"I would like you to expedite my discharge from Starfleet, and arrange for my transportation back to New Vulcan."

He gasps.

"Are you out of your ever-lovin' Vulcan mind?" he cries. "Don't you realize if I put this through you'll be kicked out dishonorably?"

I do not bother speaking, because after serving with Leonard McCoy for years now, I know he is far from finished. He lurches to his feet and points an accusatory finger at me.

"I don't know what kind of 'I'm-an-unemotional-Vulcan' crap this is, but I'm not gonna be a part of it." He begins to pace, and it reminds me so vividly of Jim my chest hurts. "My recommendation will be that you be given extended leave, on New Vulcan if you want, but you're gonna take some time off and pull yourself together or so help me I'll knock the sense back in both of you with my fists!"

He sweeps his equipment off the floor and stalks out of the cell, but not before turning to me again and uttering the most heart-wrenching statement I have heard him give since Jim and I bonded.

"That son of a bitch is lucky he survived long enough to find you, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you walk away from him now just 'cause it ain't all roses."

With that, he leaves. The force field returns, and I am once again left alone with my thoughts.

Afternoon means another visitor.

As I am not expecting the doctor to return, and I would have known if it were Jim, I do not bother identifying who it is. The being enters, lays something by my bench, and leaves just as quietly. The curiosity finally overrides my apathy, and I roll over to see what my unexpected gift is.

It is Jim's Discman. I am puzzled, because I know it was not Jim here, so who would give me something so personal to the captain? There is a note tucked inside the lid, and when I open it my lips part in shock. The script is Vulcan.

_When I was fighting with my Jim over this, our Leonard gave me this song to listen to. He told me he did not want to lose either of us, and would be here for us no matter what. I suggest you listen to the words carefully. Your Leonard wants you to talk to me. I will be waiting for you when you arrive._

I hesitate and look up to see if the guards are watching. They have given me as much privacy as possible since my arrival. I slip the headphones on, adjust the volume down, and push play. After the first few lines, I close my eyes and let the silent tears track down my face.

"_Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend, somewhere along in the bitterness…."_

Jim arrives later that evening, to release me from the brig. The Admiralty has decided I have something Terrans refer to as post-traumatic stress disorder from the destruction of my home and the loss of my mother. Leonard apparently painted a picture of stoicism and devotion to duty taking its toll, and requested I be allowed to spend a standard month on New Vulcan. The board agreed quickly, and all charges were dropped. Knowing the good doctor, they will disappear altogether.

I move quietly through our quarters. Jim has not spoken to me outside of official capacity since this whole nightmare began. He sits on our bed, not meeting my eyes when I look in his direction. There are so many things I want to tell him, but I cannot put them in proper order. I do not even think I have the right to speak to him anymore. Neither of us has approached the other through the bond. My stubborn side rears itself, and I tell myself I will not be the one to break the silence. But one more glance at him shows the exhaustion and sorrow on his face, and I feel my resolve come undone.

_T'hy'la…._

He jerks his head up, and his eyes are full of hope and pain at the same time. He stands slowly, and walks forward with a hand raised, two fingers outstretched. I smile weakly and return the kiss.

_Oh, Spock, I'm so sorry…._

He collapses in my arms, and I hold him tight against my chest. He is shaking with emotion, and I feel fiercely protective. It is only with me that he allows his façade of bravado and control to crumble; just as it is only in his presence I would laugh or cry. I am crying inside now.

_Please don't leave me, God, I'll do anything, please don't leave me,_ he pleads. I push him away gently and raise his chin with my fingertips.

"I am not leaving you forever, Jim. I am simply following orders of the Chief Medical Officer to take an extended leave. A… vacation… I believe would be the appropriate word." I raise my eyebrow and tilt my head, and he smiles at me even as tears continue down his cheeks. He nods, and I continue packing.

"Are you staying with your father?" he inquires as he begins to help me gather the last of the things I wish to take with me.

I shake my head.

"Father is still busy continuing to campaign for aid to rebuild Vulcan society. I will be staying with-" A gentle, honest smile surfaces on my face. "I will be staying with an old friend of yours." He nods and I catch a brief flare of guilt through the link.

"Did you get whatever Bones was supposed to give you from him?" he asks me. The final puzzle piece falls into place and I know who was in my presence that afternoon. Either the doctor has improved on his 'snooping skills,' or I was truly not aware of my surroundings. I nod, and reach into my duffel bag. I have packed the disc separately, but I can return his equipment to him now.

He turns it over in his hands. "He gave you my Discman? What did you listen to?" I take a moment to choose my phrasing carefully.

"It was a musical piece by the group 'The Fray.' Its title is 'How to Save a Life.' I found it…" I pause to remember fondly, "…most educational." The comm chimes and Nyota tells us we are approaching New Vulcan. Jim squeezes my hand and nods sharply at the door.

"You'd better get going. I wouldn't want to have to explain to _you_ why _you're_ late."

It is the kind of joke we have traded often in private about our closest confidant. His voice is rough but affectionate and I realize there may be hope for us after all. I pull him to me and kiss him gently, then turn away. It will be a long month away from him. I hope I am a better man when I return. I hope we both are.


	2. Part Two

When I materialize, I am in the Visitors Center for New Vulcan. The attendant looks up from his controls and gives me the _ta'al_.

"Peace and long life, Commander. Will your mate not be joining you?"

It catches me off-guard, even though I know it is considered proper to ask about a bonded pair in this fashion.

I have to stop myself from shaking my head as an answer. I have been around Terrans too long.

"Live long and prosper," I respond, "My bond-mate will not be able to join me this trip."

I return the _ta'al_ and retrieve my belongings. The center is beautiful; if you take for granted the .037 difference in gravitational pull and the slightly-off red of the rock, you could almost imagine you are on Vulcan. Nostalgia is illogical. My mother would have approved, however.

I turn to the door. "I require transportation," I inform the young man as I prepare to leave. He reaches for the comm panel when a voice interrupts us.

"Not necessary."

I almost run into… _myself_, and we lock eyes and I know we are both highly amused.

"Ambassador," I greet him, bowing my head a fraction.

"Commander," he returns. "I was made aware of your upcoming visit and have asked your father for the honor of being your host. Does this meet with your satisfaction?" I sincerely hope my emotions are not as obvious as his. His eyes are laughing.

"Indeed. Most gracious." I nod to the attendant and continue with my host. His vehicle is close, and I have to remind myself he is much older than I, and slow my pace. We place my bag in the back area and enter the vehicle. As he performs his checks, he glances over at me.

"I am sure Jim will be fine," he assures me, and I feel the blood rushing to my face. It is unnerving the way he can read me. Relaxed in his presence, I allow myself to shrug.

"Doctor McCoy would tell you he excels in finding trouble where none previously existed, and I am usually the one who has to rescue him. A month is a long time," I retort.

A disapproving grunt is all I receive back. I turn to look out the window. The trip is not long, and we land close to his dwelling. It is modest, but quite tasteful.

He takes my belongings out of the back, and when I reach to help him he raises his eyebrow at me. Again, a familiar gesture—'I am not an invalid,' it has often communicated to either Jim or Leonard when they fuss over me. We enter the building and he places the bag in the guest room. When he returns, he has clothing in his hands. He unceremoniously dumps them in my hands and gestures back to my room.

"Change."

It is not a request.

"Why?" I answer. My inner self is telling me something is about to occur I will not enjoy.

He rolls his eyes, and I have to try not to laugh. "For me. Please."

I nod warily.

When I am in the room by myself and shut the door, I look at the clothes. They appear to be a tight, ripped pair of blue jeans and a T-shirt proclaiming 'Party Animal.' My sense of unease grows. I allow myself the private thought that time has caught up with this version of me and do as he asks.

When I return to the living room, the drapes have been shut. There is a glass on the table, full of a dark brown liquid. I know what it is from both the smell and the large jug sitting beside it.

"Chocolate milk?" I venture. He enters from the kitchen and nods.

"We are going to perform an experiment."

"And to do this we must be…." I cannot fathom what this experiment is going to prove.

"Not we. You. If you are going to understand the baffling pull loss of control gives Jim, you must experience it first-hand. Drink." He nods to the glass and then leaves the room.

I stand absolutely still. This is beyond ridiculous. However, the use of the word 'experiment' appeals to the scientist in me. He would know that, too. It appears I am shrewd at any age.

I sit on the sofa and take a tentative sip. It _does_ taste good; I have always had a weakness for milk, and every Vulcan child knows the naughtiness of consuming chocolate. I take a larger swallow and hear him returning from his bedroom. I almost choke on my surprise. He is now dressed similar to me. It is slightly unnerving.

"Faster," he urges, and I raise an eyebrow.

"You _do_ realize this will not end pleasantly," I all but grumble.

He smirks. I take another drink and feel the shiver of the cold hitting my stomach, as well as a slight tingling in my head. He turns and sorts through some data chips, and finally slips one into a strange looking terminal. A loud, annoying form of music assaults me. I wince, and turn to glare at him.

"Aerosmith," he calls out above the noise. "One of Jim's favorites. You should recognize the song, as well."

It takes me a moment, but I do. 'Love In an Elevator.' The memory of Jim dancing around our quarters, pretending to play guitar, comes to mind and I laugh. Out loud. Startled, my eyebrows fly up at the same time as one of my hands covers my mouth.

He shakes his head, and walks in front of me, yanking my hand down.

"More," he commands. I take another deep drink, and this time the buzzing sensation intensifies. I close my eyes slightly and begin to nod my head in time with the beat of the drums. He sits in the chair across from me, and leans back. "How is Bones?"

"Bones is an idiot, but I love him anyway," I answer, and again blush violently.

I am not responding in a proper manner at all. I finish my drink and set the glass back down, and he refills it. Nudging it towards me, he leans back again and seems to stretch.

"Logic is an important founding principle," he intones suddenly, and I snort.

"I'm sick of logic," I shoot back, and my mouth hangs open.

_What_ was _that?_

I grab the glass in front of me and down half of it without breathing. It feels like it's getting hot in here. I tug my shirt off and toss it on the floor. He is watching, highly amused. Then Steven Tyler begins belting out 'Dude (Looks Like a Lady)' and I jump up.

"I love this song!" I shout, and begin to dance around. I feel so light, so happy. A small voice in the back of my mind tells me I am behaving like an idiot, and I logically tell it to shut up. I hear him chuckling, and shoot him a wide smile. "Why aren't you dancing?" I ask him. He continues to laugh and shakes his head.

"I am not as young as I used to be," he answers slyly. But it does not escape my attention that he is tapping his foot along with the music. I remember a move Jim has shown me, something dubiously labeled 'head banging.' It seems appropriate at this moment, and I begin to do so with great pleasure.

I continue dancing to the music, taking breaks to catch my breath and drink some more milk. Finally, I begin to get sleepy. I take another break, this time lying down on the couch. My head is propped up and I look over at my companion. His head is tilted, as if he is observing me for some reaction yet to be shown. At least, I believe that is what he is doing. He seems quite out of focus.

He gets up, and after turning off the music—to which I protest-asks me to go to the bathroom. I look at him, curious and yet somehow cross.

"No."

"Spock, you need to go to the bathroom. Now."

"Don't wanna," I pout.

He sighs and yanks me up by my wrist. I giggle.

"You're strong," I purr.

He shakes his head and thrusts me through the door. I stagger for a moment, and just as I turn to ask him why I'm here I feel the milk coming back up my throat. I whirl around to the toilet and begin to vomit uncontrollably.

When I can catch my breath, I look at him in alarm.

"What's happening?" Aside from Dr. McCoy's noxious potions, I rarely become sick to my stomach. He doesn't attempt to answer, and before I can ask again the process starts all over. Finally, I seem to be empty, and I curl up on the floor. He leans over me with a wet washcloth, rubbing my head gently.

"Do you think you can make it to your bed?" he asks softly. I nod miserably.

He helps me up, and when I finally lie down, I shiver. He places a blanket over me, and a small wastebasket beside the bed. At my raised eyebrow, he shrugs. I want to ask him about the experiment, and what its outcome was, but I realize the room is getting darker. I slip into unconsciousness in annoyance.

The light stabs my eyes, and I wince and try to pull the pillow over my throbbing head. From the kitchen I hear noises of dishes being moved around, and I shudder. Everything is so loud. Why is he so loud, so early? I take a tentative breath and swallow, and my tongue feels like it has been given a layer of fur.

He walks into the room.

"Are you finally awake?" he begins, and I frantically motion for him to lower his voice. Why is he shouting at me? I peek out from under the pillow.

"I am in need of medical assistance," I growl. He smiles in an almost evil way and shakes his head.

"Hangovers do not require a doctor. Only time to recover," he answers in a softer tone, and helps me out of bed. My head feels as if its weight has increased 4.2 times and I hold it carefully with one hand. "Would you like to shower now?"

I can only nod, and even that gesture brings great pain. He leads me to the bathroom and tells me he will bring me a towel and clean clothes. When he leaves I turn and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

I look… horrible. My dark brown eyes are ringed with faint green, and I am both more pale and yet more flushed than I have been since contracting influenza during an away mission. My hair is sticking up in directions I have not previously seen.

I am beginning to become angry that he would allow me to go through this when I take another look at myself. Suddenly, I see Jim in the mirror, looking much as I do now, and I begin to understand the purpose of this experiment as I crawl into the shower.

When I am done, I get out and find some of the clothes I packed on the closed toilet lid. A towel is folded neatly on top of them. I dry off and dress, trying to keep my motions to a minimum as my head is still protesting my actions from the night before.

I find him at his kitchen table, reading a journal. As I make my way across the room, he puts it down and looks at me carefully.

"Are you still feeling unwell?" he ventures. I grunt back at him, and he nods, picking up the PADD again. "So you would have no problem avoiding a similar situation in the future," he begins.

"That would be most obvious," I snip. "To purposely cause one's self to be this ill is completely illogical." I sit at the table, looking around. Taking in the length of the shadows and brightness of the light, I realize it is mid-afternoon, at the earliest. "How long did I sleep?" I ask him crossly. He raises an eyebrow but does not look away from his reading.

"Seventeen point three eight hours." His answer, as precise as mine always are, frustrates me. I see now why Dr. McCoy grumbles when I give these types of responses.

I glare at him.

"I usually provide Jim with a detox hypo, or aspirin, barring that." I realize I am complaining. Whining, actually. He places his PADD down again and rises with a small sigh. Going through a cabinet, he returns with a small bottle. I take it, and he reappears a moment later with a tall glass of water. Swallowing the pills, I close my eyes.

"If your desire was for me to understand Jim's actions, you have failed. There is no purpose to doing this repeatedly."

"You did not enjoy yourself last night?"

"No, I would say I did not." My eyes open when he snorts. "Honestly. Involuntary regurgitation is not enjoyable, in the slightest."

"Ah. But before that?" I search my mind, and cannot place to what he is referring. He nods, as if expecting this. He taps out a sequence on his PADD, and then hands it to me. "Here."

I watch in horror as I see myself dancing to loud music, and grinning without any reserve. I seem to have removed my shirt at some point. I am ungraceful, uninhibited, and most undignified. Yet, I seem to be very enthusiastic about the dancing part. I say the first thing on my mind.

"You recorded me." It is as much of an accusation as it sounds.

"Yes. However, it will not be seen by anyone else. I will delete it now," he offers, reaching across the table. I pull it away cautiously.

"Perhaps not immediately." When I look up, he has his head tilted and a small frown. "What if Jim was to see this? To see that I do, in fact, understand the allure of intoxication?"

"It could be seen as a gesture of understanding. However, an equal gesture must be made in return," he answers. Now it is my turn to be confused, and my head tilts in the same tell-tale manner.

"You are implying he should attempt to enjoy himself without resorting to mind-altering substances?"

"Quite."

"Indeed. In that case," I begin, "this should be given to him at a more appropriate time." He nods. I realize I am hungry, and yet somehow reluctant to eat.

"Do you have any bread for toast?" I ask him politely. He smiles and gets up again.

We are walking through New Vulcan two weeks later, touring the shops, when I begin to feel slightly dizzy. Thinking to myself that I have spent too much time on a starship and not enough on a planet, I ignore it. Then I stumble into Selek, and he catches me.

"Are you feeling unwell, _tomasu_?" I shake my head in an attempt to clear it.

"I do not know the cause, however I am feeling disorientated," I admit.

He looks me over and I see his eyes narrow. Before I have the opportunity to ask him what he has observed, a tremendous pain bludgeons my mind and I am left reeling. Something has happened to Jim. The bond is not responding anymore.

"Jim," I gasp out weakly. Selek places me on a bench and begins to meld with me to steady me.

/What has happened?/ I ask.

/Your bond has been disrupted. Jim has apparently found that trouble you predicted./

/Is that why I feel so faint?/

He nods in the meld. /We should return home. Dr. McCoy may be trying to reach you./ He releases me from the meld gently, and then walks me briskly back to his vehicle.

I am scared, although I won't admit it. Jim always has to get hurt in the worst possible fashion and then be allergic to everything that would treat his injuries. It has kept Dr. McCoy busy finding appropriate treatments ever since he became CMO.

I enter the house and head straight for the comm. station. There are no messages. I try to contact the ship and get static, although the line does connect.

"This is Commander Spock. Are you in distress?" I ask over and over, however, the communications officer doesn't have the necessary power boost to answer. Finally, I shut it off. Selek is watching me warily.

"They do not respond," I offer weakly. He nods.

"They may be out of range for this type of communication," he offers. "Go rest. If anyone contacts you I will wake you up immediately." I nod and enter my room. However, rest will not help the ache in my heart and mind. I set up my meditation area and sink to the ground.

_Please, Jim, be alive._

Two days later I receive word that the _Enterprise_ will be docking at Starbase One for repairs. I take the opportunity to comm. Dr. McCoy.

"Leonard," I greet him. His normally expressive face is drawn, and I can tell he has not slept much at all in the past few days.

"I knew I'd hear from you sooner or later," he opens. "Damn fool! We went on a first contact mission only to find out they're courting the Klingons too. The Klingons open fire on us for encroaching on _their_ sovereign territory, and in the midst of it all, Scotty goes down."

He pauses to take a drink of water.

"Jim was stuck on the surface with these morons, and they informed him he must drink a potion that seals the deal. Wouldn't you know he's allergic to it? He had plenty, and they signed the deal with us. But that was when the reaction started. Fell and cracked his skull a good one. Didn't tell me about that," he finishes lamely.

"Then we beam him up, and he decides to help engineering with their problems. Those Klingon bastards are still firing at us, and he takes another knock on the head. This one more severe. He went out and we haven't been able to get him to respond for two days. I'm sorry, Spock."

I nod my head. "I will be there shortly."

"You're still on medical leave, Spock," McCoy growls at me. "There's nothin' you can do here."

"I belong with my T'hy'la," I counter just as severely. He just sighs and waves his hand.

"Don't mind me, I'm just the fuckin' CMO, I don't have a say here," he answers, and signs off.

I turn around and find Selek watching me. His face is calm, and I envy his peace at this time. It is then that I notice he is holding my luggage in one hand.

"We have 13.23 minutes to reach the shuttle hanger," he informs me. Relief floods me that he at least understands. We leave with haste.

When we reach the shuttle hanger, I get out and gather my belongings. It is then that I notice he has packed a bag for himself as well. I am thankful he is going with me, for I am an emotional wreck—for a Vulcan—at this time. I watch warily for anyone to say anything, but Selek informs me word has gotten around that my bond-mate has been severely injured and I am going to be with him. At times, it is advantageous to live in a close community. We launch smoothly and soon the trip will be over.

What will I find when I get there? Will Jim wake up? Will he survive this injury? Will Dr. McCoy have the proper medicine in time? All these questions and more fill my mind. I feel the emptiness that is where Jim's consciousness usually stays, and it hurts.

When the shuttle lands in the _Enterprise_'s bay, I leave as soon as I am able and head straight for sickbay. I am greeted by Nurse Chapel, who has been watching Jim all morning.

"There's no change, Mr. Spock," she speaks softly. "He's in a private room."

She indicates the room and moves away. I enter the room and have to take another breath, for the smell of disinfectants and sterilization overpowers me. Jim is on a bed, surrounded by medical equipment. An old-fashioned IV drips in his arm; I remember this is because his reactions to medications are so severe that he must be fully hydrated to survive them. The monitors beep and hum quietly above him.

"Oh, Jim," I whisper. I sit by his side and take a taped and tubed up hand in mine. His color has blanched, and it hurts me to think of how bad the damage could be. Finally, I can stand it no more and stand, placing my fingers on his psi points.

/Jim?/

/…/

There is something there, but it isn't answering. This concerns me.

/Jim?/

/Go away./ He is at least speaking to me now. However, his mental voice is very strained, and I can feel waves of anguish coming from him.

/Jim, why are you upset?/

/I screwed everything up, Spock. I always screw everything up. I thought I was helping, in engineering, and instead I got three Ensigns killed. You always tell me that I've got to accept my limitations and I didn't and see what happened? This is why you left, because you knew this would happen. You knew I would screw up and now it's over isn't it?/

/I did no such thing,/ I respond tightly. /I left because I had to learn not to control you. I am a better partner now for you. I am not leaving you,/ I answer, holding his essence tight against me. /Come back to us, Jim./

I feel the essence pulling away, and then his eyelashes begin to flutter. Hearing the change in the monitors, I break the meld and wait for Dr. McCoy's usual grand entrance.

"Jim, you would pick the most inconvenient time to regain consciousness," the Southern voice starts as he enters the room, scanner in hand. "Oh, hi Spock, didn't know you had come back," he drawls with sarcasm. He examines Jim carefully, starting with his head. "Y'all been doing that Vulcan mumbo-jumbo?" he asks crossly. I nod, not wanting to earn his wrath with my usual precision answers. "Cracked his skull open and you want to go poking around in there. The things love will drive a man to do," he concedes. "Well, you had a severe concussion and tearing of an artery, but you'll live." McCoy helps Jim sit up a little further on the bed.

"How long was I out?" It is always Jim's first question.

"A while-"

"—Three days." We glare at each other and Jim laughs.

"Things can't be that bad if the two of you are going at it," he admits. "I'm hungry," he adds. As Dr. McCoy leaves to find some food for Jim, I reach into my bag that is sitting by the bed and pull out a data PADD. Now may be a good time for some lightness.

"I have learned much while we were apart," I begin. He smiles at me.

"You _would_ have to make vacation a learning experience."

I hand him the PADD. I sit back as he pushes play, and watch his face move from shock to confusion and finally settles on absolute euphoria.

"Oh my God, Spock, you were wasted! And you were dancing to Aerosmith!" He seems positively thrilled at this.

"I did it as an experiment, to understand what it means to lose control. I understand now why you seek so often to loosen your inhibitions. However, there is a time and a place." I don't want this to turn into a lecture so I stop there.

"God, Spock, don't I know it. I'm horrified at what I did before you left. It's just so hard, being a Captain and having all that responsibility, and knowing you could lose your crewmembers at any time. And those three Ensigns…" he trails off. I grip his hand tightly.

"Those Ensigns were helped greatly by you, and did not die in vain. Do not place blame upon you for their deaths." We sit quietly waiting for Dr. McCoy, who is more than likely taking his time so we can have time to ourselves.

Finally he comes through the door with great flourish, holding a tray of decidedly Southern food and a familiar bowl.

"Soul food for the good little boy, and plomeek soup for the other good little boy who probably hasn't eaten since this began." I shake my head and hold up my hand, but he insists. "Swear under oath you've eaten since Jim got sick, and I'll take it away." I cannot do this, so I accept his gracious gift.

"Tell us, Spock, how was your vacation?" the doctor intones.

I see the light come back on in Jim's eyes and for a moment I want our little secret to stay between us. But the joy he would have in telling the story would be dampened, so I sit back and continue eating with grace.

"Spock had to go and prove he loves me all over again," is all Jim says.

McCoy sighs dramatically and gets up.

"Well if you two are gonna get lovey-dovey on me, I'm outta here." But he winks at me and I know he understands.

I remind myself to thank him later. My father often told me thanks are illogical, but humans enjoy them so much and appreciate them even more.

"Can I leave, Bones?"

"Sure, kiddo. Nothing rough for inside a week, just to be sure."

With that the doctor is gone. Jim puts his tray aside and begins dressing as fast as possible. When he is ready we leave for our quarters, since it is well into Beta shift by now.

"I got a surprise for you, too, Spock," Jim whispers.

I am a little shocked; he had no warning I would be back this soon, what could he have planned? He opens the door to our quarters and runs to the computer.

"You got to turn around and close your eyes." I do so, knowing something this important to Jim would carry these instructions.

There is the sound of rustling fabric and grunts, then the computer being accessed. When music begins, I give a start.

"Okay, open your eyes and turn around!"

He has changed into his favorite blue jeans and a t-shirt that says "Lucky Man" on it, and is carrying his hairbrush like a microphone. He has serenaded me before, so this is nothing new. However, I have not heard this song before.

"_My baby, he don't talk sweet  
>He ain't go much to say.<br>But he loves me, loves me, loves me  
>I know that he loves me anyway.<em>

_And maybe he don't dress fine  
>But I don't really mind.<br>Because every time he pulls me near  
>I just wanna cheer<em>

_Let's hear it for the boy!  
>Let's give the boy a hand<br>Let's hear it for my baby  
>You know you gotta understand<em>

_Maybe he's no Romeo  
>But he's my lovin' one man show<br>Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa  
>Let's hear it for the boy!<em>

As Jim dances around me, I am reminded of the pain I have endured, and how it is moments like this that tell me I would do it all over again. The love he is sending me through the bond, the sheer happiness he is giving me, they make it all worth it. I permit myself a smile as he finishes his song.

"What'd ya think?"

"I think, T'hy'la, that you have overworked yourself against doctor's orders. So now we will sit quietly and talk about our time apart and what we have both learned."

"Okay, that sounds good to me," he answers, putting down the hairbrush and turning off the computer. We sit quietly on the sofa; fingers intertwined, and talk until our stomachs tell us it is dinner time. Another evening meal together, but this time everything is different. We are, in fact, better men.

A different shore leave, months later. We enter the bar and Jim looks around for a moment before spotting the rest of the bridge crew. We make our way over to them and sit down in the booth with them. They are all laughing and trading stories of what they plan to do with the rest of leave. A waitress comes up and speaks to Jim. He orders, and turns back to the group. I must trust him, so I do not ask to know what he ordered. I order spiced tea.

The waitress returns and hands Jim a cup, and hands me my tea. I look over at him, and he winks at me.

"Jim, do you not think you get enough coffee on the ship?" I hear Dr. McCoy ask him.

"There's no such thing as enough coffee," is his enigmatic answer.

_I love you, Spock._

_I love you too, T'hy'la._

So ends our journey through a particularly rough place, and we are stronger for having been down this road. I may have had to stay up all night, but I got to save a life.

* * *

><p>[AN: Thank you first to my patient, calm, amazing beta **spockslovechild**. Many of these edits have been made because of influence from family and friends. Thank you to Day for giving me a much more interesting reaction from a drunken Kirk, and thank you to Mauldren, for simply listening. "Let's Hear It for the Boy" is for you.]


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